“I suppose.”
“You suppose.” Quentin nodded, as Michael Collins sat silently, watching it unfold.
It was a complete and utter fraud upon the court. It was all theater.
Quentin Robinson played the role of the zealous advocate. Although he certainly knew that Andie and Michael were scheming, his job was not to question his client. His job was to win. He was provided a trust agreement directly from the United States government, which was given to them directly from the Krane’s attorney. Quentin Robinson broke no ethical rules by using it.
Brenda Gadd played the role of self-righteous prosecutor. Judge Husk played the role of supervisor and referee. It was not his job to second-chair the prosecution or the defense. If attorneys made mistakes, they were forced to live with them.
The trust agreement was properly disclosed to the defense as exculpatory evidence. The mistake was not a legal one. The mistake was rooted in the investigation and government’s apparent hubris.
And finally, Brea Krane played the role of an attorney’s worst nightmare. She was a liar. She was a witness that self-destructed on the stand. The only thing that she did not testify to was the transfer of money to her Cook Island accounts. Michael didn’t want to go there.
###
It ended with a whimper. After Brea Krane stepped down and exited the courtroom, Brenda Gadd stood. It was not how any prosecutor wanted to end her case in chief. It was, however, her only choice at the moment.
“Your Honor, the prosecution has no further witnesses at this time. It rests. I do, however, reserve the right to call rebuttal witnesses.”
Judge Husk nodded. His expression did not betray his neutrality. Even though everyone in the courtroom understood that the dynamics of the trial had completely changed in one morning, he remained calm and businesslike.
“That being the case,” he said, “the Court needs to talk about some logistics with the attorneys, and so I’ll excuse the jurors for lunch. I’ll also remind the jurors of their obligation not to discuss this case or witnesses among themselves or anyone else, because the trial is not over and deliberations have not begun.”
Judge Husk turned away from the jury box, and then looked out at the courtroom full of spectators. “Please rise for the jury as they exit the room.”
The people in the courtroom stood and watched the jurors leave.
Michael put his hand on Quentin’s shoulder, gave it a squeeze, and whispered “thank you” in his ear. Michael knew that the jurors were watching, and he hoped that it would make it clear to the jurors that their job had just gotten easier.
When the side door leading to the jury room closed and all the jurors were gone, Judge Husk continued.
“Mr. Robinson, how would you like to proceed?”
Quentin stood.
“First, Your Honor, we would ask this Court for a directed verdict. In light of the testimony just received and the disclosure of the Trust Agreement, there is no need to continue this trial. The prosecution has failed to satisfy its high burden to prove wire fraud beyond a reasonable doubt and it is unnecessary for this trial to continue.”
Judge Husk offered no reaction. He, instead, turned to Brenda Gadd.
“Response?”
Brenda Gadd stood.
“Yes, thank you.” She paused, weighing her words carefully. “Obviously this case changed this morning, but nothing this morning absolves Michael Collins of guilt. The government remains confident that Michael Collins stole Joshua Krane’s money, and we believe, just as Ms. Krane believes, that the trust document is a fraud.”
“But it came from her family’s attorney,” Judge Husk said. “And it was produced to the defense by you.”
“I still believe that it is a fraud, and I would respectfully request a continuance to investigate the document and offer such evidence in my rebuttal.”
Judge Husk tilted his head to the side, and then looked at Quentin. He raised his hand, directing Quentin to stand and respond.
“A continuance is highly unusual in the midst of a jury trial. These jurors have already made a huge sacrifice in being here, and they deserve to receive the evidence, deliberate on that evidence, and go home. The government has had five years to investigate. They are now claiming surprise about a document produced by the attorney for one of their own witnesses, which they produced to me.”
“As for the rebuttal?”
“Judge Husk, there shouldn’t be a rebuttal. This case should be done.” Quentin looked over at Michael, and then back. “But ultimately, if you don’t grant my motion for a directed verdict, then Ms. Gadd can put up whatever rebuttal evidence she wants. That’s her right, but there shouldn’t be a delay and we can address whatever issues exist with the rebuttal testimony as it comes.”
Judge Husk nodded.
“Very well.” He looked over at his law clerk, and then back at counsel. “The motion for a directed verdict is denied. Although counsel for Mr. Collins is correct, that the testimony this morning significantly undermines the government’s case. I believe there are clearly facts in dispute, and that is for the jury to resolve. So I’m not willing to stop the trial and declare a winner.”
Judge Husk looked at Brenda Gadd and his expression hardened.
“As for a continuance,” he shook his head. “That request is denied. This case is going forward, and Ms. Gadd, you have all the tools and resources of the government at your disposal. Certainly, you can prepare your rebuttal in a timely matter. The jury has been sworn. The trial has begun. Double jeopardy has attached, and you cannot change the rules of the game simply because things are not going your way.”
Judge Husk then turned to Quentin Robinson.
“Anything else?”
“Yes, Your Honor, assuming that Ms. Gadd stipulates to the trust agreement as an exhibit for the defense and it is accepted as an affirmative defense, then we will call no witnesses. The defense would rest.”
Judge Husk turned from Quentin to Michael.
“And Mr. Collins, you have been informed of your right to testify in this trial?”
Michael Collins stood.
“Yes, Your Honor. And I choose to exercise my right to remain silent. The trust agreement speaks for itself regarding my actions and authority as well as my obligations to keep the trust confidential.”
Brenda Gadd rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“Your Honor, I respectfully ask you to reconsider your ruling.”
“Why?” Judge Husk asked, daring Brenda Gadd to answer him. “Nothing has changed in the last sixty seconds that would require me to reverse this decision.” He folded his hands in front of himself. “Now, in light of defense counsel’s request, I anticipate that you will not waste the Court’s time by requiring them to lay the foundation for a document that you yourself produced to the defense. True?”
Brenda Gadd didn’t respond. She didn’t want to agree to anything, but she also knew that the trial was going to continue and that further irritating Judge Husk was not going to help. “That is true, Your Honor, we will stipulate.”
“Fine. Then that is settled.“ Judge Husk nodded. “We’ll come back after lunch. Mr. Robinson will offer the trust agreement as affirmative evidence of its defense. He will rest, and we will break for the day. Tomorrow morning, Ms. Gadd will offer any rebuttal testimony that she may have, and then we will go straight to jury instructions and closing arguments.”
Judge Husk took a breath and steadied himself.
“I think the afternoon is plenty of time for us to wrap up this trial, for Ms. Gadd to fashion her rebuttal, and for both the prosecution and the defense to draft their closing arguments.”
Judge Husk nodded at the bailiff and his law clerk and both stood.
“Court is now adjourned.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY FIVE
Agent Armstrong left Vatch. Armstrong had spoken to Brenda Gadd briefly before she returned to court that afternoon. She had given him a list of questions that he needed to answe
r in the next four hours. The case had fallen apart. The only way to salvage it was by lighting a fire.
Armstrong dispatched one agent to find Brent Krane. A record check confirmed that he had, in fact, traveled out of the country during the purported fire at the Sunset Resort. It was just as Michael Collins’ attorney had alleged. It was a good fact for the defense, but it might also give the FBI some leverage during questioning.
Another agent was sent to find Tad Garvin, and Armstrong assigned himself the task of breaking Brea Krane. He wanted to be the hero.
Armstrong checked the address, again. Then he took a left on 2nd Avenue and a right to Brea Krane’s condo. He found it, but there was no parking in front. Armstrong circled the block twice, and then he saw a Toyota Prius leaving a meter a half block from the front door of Brea Krane’s building.
###
Brea Krane walked into her front foyer. The lights were on, and she knew that she wasn’t alone.
“Hello.” She placed her keys on a small table and walked further inside. She called out, again, and this time, there was an answer.
“We’re in here.”
Tad Garvin sat on the couch in her living room. Her brother sat in a chair across from him. Brent was, as always, pale and a little dirty. What concerned her, however, was the gun in his hand.
Brent glared at her. There was a darkness in his eyes.
“Wondering when you’d show up.”
“Put that away.” Brea gestured toward the gun. She decided to push away her fear and be the big sister. She needed to control him, just as she had always controlled him. “I thought you were still up in Montauk.”
The crowd didn’t like his sister’s attitude, and Brent didn’t like it either.
“Been back long enough. Long enough to see you meet with Michael Collins’ girlfriend.” He looked at Garvin. “Long enough to hear about the money and the new accounts that our lawyer has set up for us.” The crowd grew impatient, and Brent lost his train of thought in the noise. “Then we’ve got this scheme. … A fake trust agreement.” Brent shook his head. “Brilliant.”
“I didn’t know anything about that,” Brea said, but her brother ignored her.
“I saw you in court today. Didn’t know you were such an actress.”
“Listen, brother, you need to put the gun away so that we can talk.”
“I’ve had enough talk.” Brent shook with anger. Brea saw his trigger finger twitch and his other fingers tighten around the gun’s grip. He said, “I’m tired of you talking.”
”Brent, you’re obviously not feeling too well.” Brea walked toward him. “How about we —”
Her brother jumped out of his seat. “Not another step.” Brent stood in front of her. Brea stopped. Her arms in the air, surrendering.
“I know what I’m doing.” Brent pointed the gun at her, and then directed Brea to the couch. “Sit next to your beloved lawyer.”
She did as she was told. Brea sat down on the couch.
“While we were waiting for you, I was just discussing life with our boy, Tad. Isn’t that right, Mr. Garvin?”
Brea turned to look at Tad. She watched him nod his head. His hands trembled. She noticed a fresh bruise on the side of his face and a few drops of blood on his collar.
She tried again to calm her brother.
It didn’t work.
Brent made a sudden move toward Garvin. He raised his hand, as if to strike with the butt of the gun. Tad Garvin flinched, and Brent laughed. The crowd appreciated Brent’s dominance.
“I think I’ll spare you for now.” Brent lowered the gun, and then pointed it back at his sister.
The crowd liked the power, and encouraged him to continue.
“So, at some point, you talk with Michael Collins and concoct a plan. He turns himself in, and you start working with Collins’ girlfriend. Am I right so far?”
“If you would just let me explain why?” Brea’s tone had changed. She couldn’t keep the fear away anymore. She was pleading.
“I know why,” Brent snapped back at her. “Money. It’s always about the money. But what about honor and pride and family?”
Brent took a step closer to her. “Just let me finish,” He pointed the gun at Brea’s head, inches away. “You sleep with our boy, Tad, and then get him to send the bogus trust agreement to the government. You get the money in exchange for the magic evidence that’s going to set Michael Collins free.”
“Please, Brent,” Brea was crying now. “Please. I wasn’t ever going to help Michael Collins. I was just shaking him down.”
Brent ignored the explanation. “I figure you didn’t let Tad know about everything. Just enough. You were just using him. Right?”
“Brent, that money was for you,” she lied, but it was the only thing that she could think of.
“False,” Brent took a step back. “It wasn’t for me. It was all for yourself. Nothing is ever enough for daddy’s princess. You needed a little more. And you couldn’t handle the government and all those supposed victims taking it away from you.”
“You’re too emotional, Brent. I couldn’t let you in on the plan. Especially after you went down there, lighting fires and taking unnecessary risks.”
The crowd didn’t like his sister’s accusations. The crowd wanted her to plead for her life again.
“I was exacting revenge for what Michael Collins took away from me.” Brent tried to get the power back. “You got the trust fund. I got nothing. The horde of lawyers and government bureaucrats clawed it away from me. I was a laughingstock at school. I was harassed. I was hated. Then I had to leave because our family couldn’t afford it.” Brent cocked his head to the side, thinking. “But you could afford it. You could have kept me in school. You had some money.”
Brent walked toward Brea. The crowd pushed him closer, urging him to finally be rid of her. Now the crowd didn’t want any of the tainted money. There was no reason for it. Everybody knew that they weren’t going to survive the day.
Brent felt his heart pound. Adrenaline shot through his body, making him feel taller, stronger, better. He put the muzzle to his sister’s forehead.
Brent closed his eyes.
“Goodbye, sister.” Brent pulled the trigger, and just before the gun fired, he felt his arm jerk away. The shot missed his sister’s head and blew a hole into the living room wall.
His sister screamed. Tad Garvin was on top of him, wrestling him to the ground and trying to get the gun.
###
Agent Armstrong heard the first shot when the elevator doors opened. He and the building manager ran down the hallway toward Brea Krane’s condominium. Armstrong wanted to call for backup, but there wasn’t time.
They sprinted toward Brea Krane’s door. The building manager got out his master key, as Armstrong drew his own service weapon.
The door unlocked, and Armstrong burst through the doorway just as a second shot fired. He threw himself to the ground. Armstrong was unsure about whether he was being shot at or whether anybody even knew that he was inside.
He pulled himself up to his knees.
“FBI,” he shouted. “Put your hands above your head. You’re under arrest.” Armstrong rounded the corner. He saw Tad Garvin on the ground. His chest was painted red, and then he saw Brent Krane charging him, screaming.
Brent Krane fired three wild shots. Armstrong heard the building manager scream in pain from behind him. Then Armstrong returned the fire.
The first shot went through Brent Krane’s shoulder. It didn’t slow him. He kept charging. The second shot hit his neck, and spun him around, and the third hit Brent Krane in the head. He fell backward, into a glass coffee table. Brent was dead before his body touched the floor.
Armstrong fell back onto his knees. He turned around and saw the building manager. The building manager was on the ground, bleeding, but he was still alive. Then Armstrong stood and surveyed the living room.
Tad Garvin was lying on the floor. Brent Krane was just a few yards
in front of him. Half his skull was gone.
Then Armstrong saw Brea Krane in the distance. She looked like she was sitting on the couch, frozen.
Armstrong took another step forward. He called out to her, but Brea Krane did not respond. That’s when he noticed the red dot on her shirt. The first shot that had gone through her brother’s shoulder had continued. It had struck her in the heart.
Armstrong heard the sirens coming. He turned back to the building manager. “Help is here.” He was breathing hard. “You hang on.”
Then Armstrong walked over to the wall and sat down on the floor. He pulled the phone out of his pocket. He found Brenda Gadd’s phone number in the directory. He knew that he had to call her, but, first, he needed to figure out how he was going to explain that all three of their witnesses were dead.
CHAPTER EIGHTY SIX
Brenda Gadd’s fight was replaced by bitterness. She had been wronged. She knew that she had been cheated. She knew that a guilty man was going free, but there was little that she could do.
“I’m going to make a promise to you,” she leaned over to Quentin Robinson, checking to make sure that the judge had still not arrived. “I’m going back and reviewing everything. I’m investigating everything you did in this case. I’m investigating all the correspondence. I’m figuring out how you got paid. I’m looking at everything, and if I discover any evidence that you conspired to illicit false testimony or interfered with our investigation, you’re going to jail.”
Quentin closed his eyes. He wasn’t going to be baited. He wasn’t going to be drawn into an argument, especially in a judge’s chambers. He decided to keep his mouth shut and wait.
“Good morning.” Judge Husk entered the room, and then tottered around Brenda Gadd and Quentin Robinson’s chairs to his desk. “Quite a trial we’ve had.”
Judge Husk slowly lowered himself into his chair. Then his dutiful law clerk pushed him and the chair closer to his desk.
“Now,” Husk nodded, settled. “My clerk tells me that there have been developments since we adjourned yesterday afternoon.” Husk’s tone when he said the word “developments” indicated that he knew that such a description of recent events was an understatement.
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